


King under the Mountain

by Salvia_G



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canonical Character Death, Implied Relationships, M/M, Past Character Death, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-09
Updated: 2013-04-09
Packaged: 2017-12-07 19:42:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/752308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Salvia_G/pseuds/Salvia_G
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bilbo does not leave for the Shire immediately after the Battle of the Five Armies, but spends the winter in Erebor.  Several conversations he has with Dain Ironfoot, the new King under the Mountain.</p>
            </blockquote>





	King under the Mountain

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Король-под-горой](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1032933) by [Toshirei](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Toshirei/pseuds/Toshirei)



> As always, I own nothing, not Tolkien's lovely _The Hobbit_ nor the Peter Jackson films inspired by the book; and I am grateful for the chance to play in Middle Earth's playground too.
> 
> I intended to write something light next, and instead I wrote this. Just another sign that I am not the one in charge. I am pleased to be the first I have seen use this pairing!

At first, Bilbo thought that perhaps Dain thought that he would steal the Arkenstone again, and that was why he came so often to Thorin’s grave when Bilbo was there.  As far as he knew, Dain did not come at other times.  Certainly he was never there when Bilbo arrived.

To be fair to Dain, Bilbo spent much time at Thorin’s graveside.  Almost anyone who came to pay respects came while Bilbo was there.

But Dain seemed to come less to honor Thorin than to study Bilbo.  It made Bilbo uncomfortable.  He didn’t know what to think of this gruff Dwarf from the Iron Hills.  He had proved himself a great warrior in the Battle of the Five Armies.  He seemed fair and honorable in his dealings with Men and Elves.  Nevertheless, Bilbo resented him.  In Bilbo’s heart, there was only one King under the Mountain.  If it could not be Thorin, then yes:  Fili, Kili; but with all of them gone, that the kingship of Erebor had gone to this stern-faced ruler of the Iron Hills, who had not come with Thorin from the beginning... well.  Hobbits are forgiving creatures, kind to a fault; but Bilbo had not forgiven yet.

Dain did not seem at ease when he came, either.  All the Dwarves of the Iron Hills seemed discomfited by Erebor:  by the boundless gold, the mines of mithril and jewels.  Apparently the Iron Hills were a harder place, sufficient to the needs of the dwarves there, but not wealthy like the Lonely Mountain.  The mines of the Iron Hills were practical mines for a practical people:  its namesake iron as well as copper and perhaps a vein or two of silver.  Bilbo remembered how easily Thorin’s company had traded their worn travel clothes for the shining armor of the Dragon’s hoard.  The Dwarves of the Iron Hills remained in their plain iron-studded jerkins and iron-toed boots.

They did show great respect to the members of the company, Bilbo among them; in fact, Bilbo thought they regarded the company with as close to awe as these stoic Dwarves came.  None of them approached Bilbo, however; so he was left to mourn with only his dear companions.  Gandalf had stayed for a time, but then he was required elsewhere.  Bilbo thought that at some point, he would be ready to return to the Shire; and Gandalf would somehow know and be there the next day. 

When he could stand the mountain no longer and must see the sky above him, Bilbo went down the approach a bit to the camps of the Men or the Elves, to visit with Bard or Thranduil, for somehow both had become good friends.  Soon this escape would no longer be available to him.  As the wounded healed enough to be moved, the camps were shrinking.  Already Bard spent most of his time in Dale, supervising the rebuilding there.  If Bilbo had not known the idea was ridiculous, he would have thought Thranduil lingered at the Elven camp only for his company.  Certainly he seemed to have nothing to do there.  Though from what Bilbo had seen, he was not sure Elven kings ever had much to do.

It was in the early evening, after he had returned from dinner with the Wood Elves, that Dain spoke to Bilbo for the first time.  One of Dain’s guards had caught Bilbo on his way to the library.  Bilbo usually went there after a visit down the mountain.  It seemed disrespectful to go directly from Thranduil to Thorin.  Respectfully, the guard had asked that Bilbo accompany him to Dain’s small attendance room (Dain never used the grand throne if he could avoid it).  Bilbo was somewhat startled to realize that the pattern of his movements may have been observed more closely than he had known.  Once again he wondered if he was suspected of having designs on the Arkenstone.  _That wretched rock,_ he thought.  _It will always haunt me._

But when he reached the attendance room, Dain had no accusations or suspicious questions.  He asked awkwardly after Bilbo’s comfort in the mountain and he asked if Bilbo would enjoy a long stay in Erebor.  His stern demeanor put Bilbo in mind of the Old Took when he intimated that a guest had outstayed his or her welcome at tea, and perhaps it was time to go home.

“Well!” said Bilbo.  “I am certain that I can leave whenever you wish.  I can be packed tonight if you like; though I ask that I may be allowed to stay until the morning, that I might leave in the daylight, and say goodbye to my friends.”

Dain seemed frustrated.  “I meant that you may stay, that I wish you to stay,” he said.  “Why, then, do you hear me say that I want you to go?”

Bilbo blushed.  His mother would have twisted his ears had she heard him be so rude to one who intended no insult.  And Dain was King under the Mountain.  He deserved more respect.

“I apologize, your majesty,” he stammered.  “It is very gracious of you to make me welcome.”

If anything, this little speech seemed to aggravate Dain all the more. 

“I am no courtier,” he growled.  “I was a plain ruler of a plain folk.”

Bilbo wasn’t sure what to say to this.  “I’m sure you’ll do fine” seemed presumptuous, as did “Thorin used to insult people without trying lots of times as well.”  Finally, he settled on a simple, “Your majesty.”

Dain closed his eyes and drew in a breath.  “I would like it if you would call me Dain,” he said.  “I do not feel comfortable being ‘your majesty’ed’ to and fro.  All the Iron Hills folk do, and that’s what feels right to me.”

Bilbo nodded.  It did seem to suit this plain Dwarf better than ‘your majesty,’ no matter his rank.  He didn’t carry it well, the way Thorin would have.  “I will, Dain,” he said.

Dain gave him a decisive nod in return, and the guard who had originally found him escorted him from the room.

So Bilbo remained at the Lonely Mountain through the winter.  The Elves had all retreated to the Mirkwood; before they left, Thranduil extracted a promise that Bilbo would visit come springtime.  The camp of Men had packed up and left for Dale or Laketown as well.  He still spent much of his time at Thorin’s grave, but he also spent more and more time in Erebor’s library.  By luck or chance, it had been spared Smaug’s wrath (likely because it had no gold).  It was, however, an unholy mess; Smaug may not have burned it, but he had clearly taken his tail to some nearby walls.  The bookshelves had collapsed onto each other and the books had been a shambled mess until Ori had taken charge.

He might not have been the obvious choice due to his youth, but he had respect because of his position as a member of Thorin’s company; and honestly, no one else really seemed interested.  Bilbo helped him when he could, generally with the limited Westron collection and the even more limited Sindarin collection.  He could not help with the Khuzdul unless someone taught him to read it, and not even Ori would go that far.  Bilbo came to find him in the afternoons, generally, saving his mornings and evenings for Thorin.  Sometimes Dori stopped by to see Ori and to help for a bit; but all the love in the world for his little brother didn’t give him the patience for the books; his visits were often short.  Nori’s visits were even shorter, and he didn’t bother to try to help at all.

Sometimes the company gathered of an evening, and then Bilbo could not go down to Thorin until late.  He noted that Balin often watched him go with sad eyes, but none of the company ever mentioned the time he spent with Thorin; they would squeeze his shoulder gently should they come down while he was there, but they never spoke of it.  Bilbo was grateful for their tact.  Bofur once seemed about to say something; but when he opened his mouth, nothing came out.  Finally he asked, “All right, Bilbo?”

“Yes,” Bilbo replied.  He was.  He had cried bitterly at the beginning, but now he was used to the ache.  He thought that might ease a bit more with time, but it would not go away entirely.  He would not want it to.

It was on one of these late evenings, after a rowdy (by Hobbit standards) dinner with the company (Bilbo thought perhaps it was a subdued gathering by Dwarven standards), that Dain next spoke with Bilbo.  Bilbo was leaning on Thorin’s memorial, feeling maudlin.  There had perhaps been a bit too much to drink at dinner. 

 _I wish it had been anyone else but you,_ he thought.  _Dwalin or Balin or Bofur or Ori or any of the company.  Gandalf, even.  If I could make it be me instead, I would.  You would miss me, I think; but you would have this awful mountain that you loved so much.  I cannot love this place; and when I leave for the Shire that I do love, I must leave you behind._

It was then that Dain slowly and quietly entered the room, as if unsure he was welcome. _Certainly Dain,_ Bilbo thought.  _Of all of them, I wish Dain had died instead of you._

But Dain spoke as if he did not know Bilbo’s spiteful, selfish thoughts.  Fair enough, he probably didn’t.  “Well met, Mr. Baggins,” he said.  His manner was at least reserved and respectful.

“Good evening, your majesty,” Bilbo said.

Dain looked pained.  Bilbo supposed that he _had_ done it on purpose.  “Dain, please, Mr. Baggins,” he said.

Bilbo did not reply.  For a time there was silence between them.  Finally, grudgingly, Bilbo said, “Then I’m sure you should call me Bilbo, Dain.”

Dain seemed to relax a bit.  “Thank you, Bilbo,” he said, and sat on one of the chairs that lined the walls.  He seemed determined to stay as long as Bilbo did, for he would not leave until an exhausted Bilbo finally sought his bed.

The third time that Dain spoke with Bilbo, Bilbo was surprised to find him at Thorin’s grave early in the morning, even before Bilbo arrived.  He sat against the wall in the same way, with his head in his hands.  Instead of waiting for Bilbo, however, he seemed surprised that he was there.  “Is it so late, then?” he asked.  He almost seemed to speak to himself.

Bilbo could not help his curiosity.  “Do you often come as early as this?” he asked.  “To be here and gone before I arrive?”

Dain’s eyes were steady on the ground.  “If I cannot sleep, sometimes I wander the halls,” he said.  “Sometimes, I come here.”

“No one is ever here before I come,” Bilbo said wonderingly.

Dain huffed.  Whether it was anger or laughter, Bilbo could not tell.  “No one is ever here so much as you,” he said.  And then he left.

After that, there was no help for it; Bilbo had ignored Dain when he could, but now he realized how much the Dwarf king’s eyes were upon him.  _Surely he knows we cannot shake hands and be friends,_ Bilbo thought.  _I can’t help but compare him to Thorin, and he can’t help but fall short.  Not his fault, just the way things are.  He should be too busy for one little Hobbit, anyway._

And Dain did not try to approach Bilbo; he just watched him.  Bilbo came to wish that Dain would come talk to him, _for it must be better than all this moping about,_ he thought.  _Goodness, the Iron Hills Dwarves are a dour folk, and Dain most of all._

And then, once again, they were alone at Thorin’s grave, late, after one of the company’s gatherings.  Bilbo turned to Dain.

“Why do you stare so?” he asked.

Dain started, and seemed guilty.  “I did not think you noticed,” he said.

“At first I did not,” Bilbo agreed.  “But after a while, well... is it because I am a Hobbit?”  He leaned carelessly against the base of Thorin’s memorial.

“No,” Dain replied, cautious.  “Do you not know?”

“If I knew, then I would not ask,” said Bilbo.  “I would not ask if I knew.  Asking is not necessary if—“ 

Dain cut him off.  “Yes, I see,” he said.  He stood, and walked two paces, then turned and walked the other way, then sat, then stood and walked again.  He was halfway across the room from Bilbo when he spoke.

“Will you stay, in the spring, here in the mountain?  Will you live with us, the lone Hobbit in a mountain full of Dwarves?”

“I don’t see what the one has to do with the other,” Bilbo said.

“No,” said Dain.  “I see that you do not.”  He looked down at his hands.  “I am not Thorin,” he said.

“No,” said Bilbo.  “He is dead.”

Dain winced, but continued.  “Still, I am King under the Mountain.  I would give you whatever I could to make you happy here.”

Bilbo shook his head and tried to think.  This was unexpected indeed.

“I did not know,” he said.  “I haven’t thought of it.”

Dain looked at him, waiting until Bilbo looked him in the eye.  “Will you?  Will you think on it?”

Bilbo looked away.  He was too tired for this.  “Why would you—the lone Hobbit in all of Erebor?” he asked.  “I don’t understand why you would even notice I was here.”

Dain nodded, as if one of his councilors had made a strong point in a trade negotiation.  “At first I did not,” he said.  “Only as a member of the company, and perhaps a bit of curiosity, having never seen a Hobbit before.  But there was much to be done, and our ways did not often cross.”

He crossed the room, looking uncomfortable but determined.  “But I came here a bit in the beginning, to mourn him and to say I hadn’t expected it would be so big a job as it was.  And you were always here.”

“Yes,” said Bilbo.  He had been there, always, in the beginning.  The company had had to drag him away to meals.

“We in the Iron Hills are unmoving as the rock, stubborn and solid folk,” Dain said.  Bilbo raised an eyebrow.  Dain made that strange noise, half laugh, half angry exhalation.

“Yes, like all Dwarves,” he acknowledged.  “But our thoughts did not turn to revenge or lost kingdoms like those of these poor homeless ones.  What I admired most about Thorin was not his fairy tales of Erebor’s splendor, but his hardheaded determination to go back no matter the cost; and the loyalty he showed to his people.  We of the Iron Hills value loyalty above all.” 

He fell silent, and Bilbo waited.  He could not think what he should say.  After some time, Dain spoke again.

“That loyalty to Thorin was what I first admired in you,” he said.  “I had heard of what he said to you, and what he had done.  I think the Dragon’s sickness, the gold madness, must have been upon him, though Thorin did always value the Arkenstone.  I think to him it meant that all would be well again in the Lonely Mountain.”

Bilbo was unwillingly fascinated by Dain’s words.  He had not wanted to hear what Dain had to say about himself, but he was greedy for his words about Thorin.  Dain had, perhaps, known Thorin as well as any outside the company, he thought.

But then Dain continued, and Bilbo felt sick.  “But you mourned him so; you mourn him still. I came to think that he would have been lucky, had he lived, to have such a loyal one by his side,” he said.  “And then I came to think that it was I who wanted you at my side.”

Bilbo looked at him.  He hated Dain, then; and at the same time he thought, _he is very brave._  “I could not,” he said.

Dain nodded.

“I could not love you,” he said.

Dain nodded again.  Bilbo sighed.

“I had already thought that when the spring came, then I must leave for the Shire,” he said.  “I do not think we can choose where we love, really; but I do think you will be a good King under the Mountain, and you are already a good Dwarf.”

Dain nodded a final time.  He turned and left the room.

Bilbo stayed the rest of the night by Thorin’s side, as he had not since the beginning.  He may have cried, a little.  Bilbo did not see Dain much for the rest of that winter.  In a month or two, the spring came to the mountain and so did Gandalf, and Bilbo left. 

The company sent him off with many promises of visits and pleas to come back.  Bilbo did not know if he could ever come back, but he smiled and said, “In a while, you know; for it has been a long time, and my garden must be all overgrown!”  He visited with Thranduil, as promised, and at Rivendell; and they didn’t have too much trouble on the way back, despite all the trouble they had had on the way.  There was more trouble with the Sackville-Bagginses at the end of his journey.

Dwarves did come to visit him, of course; but he never went back to the mountain.  He did eventually forgive the King under the Mountain, for living when Thorin had died, and to think of Dain with some kindness; but Bilbo’s heart had long been given away.  He hoped that Dain had found someone to love and be loved by, though his Dwarven visitors said he never did marry again.  They did not think much on it, for his wife had borne him an heir before she died.  Bilbo hoped that marriage had been one for love; for in the end, he could not bear to think of any unloved King under the Mountain.


End file.
